Kitty's Dreams
by emily.down
Summary: What if Kitty Bennet was different in the book? She's a young girl who never wants to grow up, who lives in her stories and fantasies. Will it be enough to go through life?
1. Chapter 1

_**Guess I'm getting a bit addicted to Pride and Prejudice fanfiction. This is Kitty's story as I see it (quite different from Mary's). It begins at the beginning of the book itself and continues throughout the original story. I hope you like this , yes and in my story the Meryton Ball takes place in winter. I hope you don't mind the change. Thank you for reading.**  
_

1:Snow

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I was sleeping at the window. The snowflakes were stuck to the pane. My arms were icy, but I preferred the slumber.

The dog howled in the yard. The wind brushed away the snow. My eyes were slowly opening. I saw two buckets filled with ice next to the kitchen door.

The hills and the sky were both white; therefore I could not tell them apart.

'Kitty! Your nether-stocks were under the bed! Always give them to Bertha for a good wash, you hear me?'

Mama was coming down the stairs. I heard the wood creaking. So many creatures lived under out staircase, I thought.

Her voice was always louder than necessary. I pretended to be sleeping again.

'Well now, run off and wash your face. The dress is laid on your bed. Do try and comb Lydia's hair, she won't manage by herself,' she told me, shaking my arm.

I wanted to pretend I was a bird, a red bird, a very pretty red bird which flew over Hertfordshire and reached the sea and there it would fall into the water and turn into a mermaid, like I had read in some books.

I would like living under the sea. I wondered if I could hear the clamour in the house if I was under water.

The chamber was open and the grey light coloured all the furniture. Lydia was sitting on the bed, putting on the frock.

'Well don't just stand there, Kitty. Come and help me.'

I helped her with the corset, I tied her laces and brushed her long, flowing hair that reached the ground. I wasn't apt to make pretty buns or tie ribbons, so I called Jane who always helped us with these articles.

My dress was blue, with lace at the neck and hems. I pulled it over my head and sat there in bed, waiting for someone to tell me to rise.

I could have fallen asleep like a princess, dressed for a Ball, with my hands clasped serenely over my chest and waited until hundreds of years passed to wake up. I would have found the world very changed. The towns, the streets, the carriages would have vanished and instead the lands would have sunk under the ground and everything would have been made of gold, bronze, silver and steel.

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Meryton was covered in a blanket of stars, so that none of the blemishes noticeable by daylight could spoil the view. The horses and the rooftops were sprinkled with white powder and the muddy road was now glimmering.

The Meryton Hall was a very dismal looking building from the outside, but when the doors opened for us I saw an array of red and yellow lights.

The rooms were filled with men and women, young and old, dancing and laughing. The fireplaces crackled and the music was streaming throughout the Hall.

Not before long, I lost my sisters. I couldn't find them in the crowd. I saw my mother and father talking in a corner with a family. My mother was waving a large white fan in front of her face. I was pushed and shoved until I caught someone's hand and was pulled in the dance.

We were like ducklings on a river, like the wine swirls in a glass. My partner was a young man with a dirty beard, then he went to the right and I caught another hand and now my partner had a red shock of hair, then the following had a very large neckerchief.

I was happy.

When you dance very fast and laugh and do not have time to breathe the lights go very fast around you and soon you think you are in a storm of lightning, but it's only the pleasant dizziness of pulling your feet from the ground for a moment.

And after the dizziness the voices no longer sound different, but they are all the same sound.

The melody always had a secret spell, because when it stopped, the charm ended and the guests turned away and sought food and conversation.

I gulped down a glass of wine and sank in a holstered chair, thinking about how I flew when I danced. If I ever grew up old enough I would harvest a vine and have many grapes.

I counted the lights in the chandelier. I wondered if all the worlds, like the ones in flowers or trees had Balls like ours. The insects never danced, nor did the animals; they all sang. The stars were philosophers and did a great deal of thinking, therefore only the flowers danced.

Lydia came rushing to me, barely breathing.

'Mama called us. We are to be introduced to Mr. Bingley.'

Their eyes were lifeless, I thought. I did not see the usual light and animation. Only Mr. Bingley had some colour. Did the rich live miserable lives in secret?

The lady on the right was very fair, but her face was very sharp. I was frightened by her sense of elegance. She could have very well been a beautiful witch and I recalled reading how they bathed in blood and wore skeleton necklaces round their necks.

I saw Mr. Bingley and Jane dance several times and he seemed to be fond of her. Mama was over the moon. Papa was somewhat indifferent. He was talking to Mary in a corner.

By the end of the evening, Lizzie let us know Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, Mr. Bingley's friend was a "pompous vain man with no sense of humour".

I had a strange feeling, sitting in the carriage, wrapping my shawl over me. I felt that whatever I did, it would prove futile in the long run. Why? Perhaps because every moment was just like the other and life was only one moment, repeated ad infinitum.

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I kept a small notebook where I wrote my stories, but since ink was a luxury I could not write very often. Papa had better use of it. When I did have half a bottle I was very glad.

I was writing about a little girl called Pansy who had discovered a new land in a tree hole.

I had once given some pages to Mary to read since I trusted her judgement and taste. She was so well-read that she would surely know what to think.

She told me it was the silliest, most nonsensical thing she had ever read and that I should not pursue such a trite story anymore.

I was upset with her for weeks; until I considered she might be right. But I tried not to. These stories were most precious to me and I could not let anyone tear them apart, no matter how daft they may seem.

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Early in the morning I was building a snowman in the back garden. Bertha had berated me for standing in the cold and damp for so very long but I did not mind.

I wanted to sculpt a princess now, a princess of ice.

I gathered large amounts of snow around me and pondered on what I was supposed to do.

'Kitty!'

Lydia was shouting from a window upstairs.

'We must be off to the Lucases, to discuss the Ball,' she said importantly. 'Come inside and get dressed properly.'

'Must I come now?' I said reluctantly looking at the bright, white snow around me.

'Yes you silly thing, else Mrs. Lucas will be off to town and we shall have no time for conversation. What are you making there?'

'Well, I'm not done here. Why must I go? I only sit there stupidly and drink tea and knit. It's very boring,' I commented.

'It shan't be boring today, we have so many things to discuss about the Ball. And of course we must take council whether Mr. Bingley shall give a Ball himself and what is to be expected from such an occasion.'

'Well – I still see no reason to come.'

'Fine then, I shall tell mama,' Lydia said sticking out her tongue.

Oh, she shouldn't have. Mama came out of the house ravished and angry and kicked off my snowman's head. She took me by the elbow inside the house. Oh, I disliked Lydia sometimes.


	2. Chapter 2

2: Unreasonably Sad

Mrs. Lucas was dreadfully boring. Charlotte was very kind…and the drawing room was rather cold. I wanted to wrap myself and curl in front of the fire, but instead I had to sit upright on a stool and knit. I always pricked my fingers and the blood shed over my fingers on the rough, brown carpet. It was unnoticeable.

I tried hard to hear what they were saying, but the room was so peaceful and the curtains were drawn, so that I almost fell into slumber. I wanted these women to stand up and do preposterous ridiculous things like scratch their ears and pick their noses.

Mary was nudging me from time to time to stay alert; my needles were falling.

I believed I was sad, but it was one of those moments when I was sad for no comprehensible reason and those were the most dreadful times, when I did not understand why I suffered.

Maybe I wanted sunlight to flood in, maybe I wanted the air to grow thick so that I could cut it with a knife and prove to myself that the world around me was alive.

My universe wasn't rich, but it was embellished.

Charlotte was awfully kind. That woman never complained or confessed her troubles, that woman never let her bad spirits make others uncomfortable. That woman had a soul made of strings.

Not before long I saw myself home again, though I knew not how I had come back. It was dark outside, as stormy clouds had turned black. I snuck under my quilt and lay there the entire day, fearing to raise my head above the pillows.

I suffered for no good reason.

When I did rise from my sleep, I found the house in a strange disposition. Lizzie informed me that Jane had left for Netherfield, to dine with Miss Bingley. She also told me, in a resentful voice, that mama hadn't given her the fur coat and she would surely catch a terrible illness on her way there.

My mother was in the larder, counting eggs, impervious to our accusing eyes.

I felt an alarming hate in my throat and I almost cried ashamed. I wanted to think that snow would protect my sister, but I wanted my mother to know she could die.

'Mama, do you think Jane can come back?' I asked biting into my lip hard.

'Why shouldn't she?'

I knew she was not listening.

* * *

We received a letter from Jane telling us she had a bad case of flu but that Mr. Bingley and his family were tending to her every whim. No one was really comforted by this news, except mama. I dreaded thinking Jane would perish in that cold house, among strangers.

But I was exaggerating. Jane would never die. She had the blood of a fairy, nothing could be more beautiful.

Lizzie left the next day to see her. We all wished her luck.

* * *

I was writing in my book again. Pansy, my favourite heroine, is battling against rhinoceros. My fear is that I shall always live through her.

I wait at the window for my sisters to come home. I must confess I am very worried.

My mind is all in a whirl. I believe the storms could define it.


	3. Chapter 3

3: Arcy and Bing

I swept the sheltered courtyard, where it had not snowed so much. I fed the chickens and helped Bertha strangle one of them and pluck its feathers. I watched her as she lit the stove and chopped the onion, but she did not tear up. I admired her for that.

I sat on my high stool and read to her from my little notebook. She loved _Pansy's adventures _and often sat to listen to every little new thing I had written there. She was in raptures about the story and professed to be enamoured with the protagonist. She secretly wished to have a daughter of her own.

Bertha had a man somewhere in the village. I called him man, but I knew his name. I couldn't stand him. He was tall, unshaved, unkempt and very bold. I suspected he had many sweet-hearts but he preferred Bertha the most. They usually had intercourse at the back of the barn, between the hay stacks.

I often advised Bertha to leave him, but she told me she loved him and parting from him would be a punishment. I knew if they married I wouldn't see Bertha anymore and she would be thrashed and beaten and I knew she would be quiet about it and not complain.

I saw a rat sneaking into the larder but I stumped on his tail and caught him. I held him in my hands. Bertha grimaced disgusted and told me to shoo it away.

I was fascinated by the small animal. Its beady eyes glimmered in the firelight.

Bertha beat it with the broom until it half-limped out of the kitchen.

'Why did you do that? It's only a poor animal.'

'Survival of the fittest, dear,' Bertha told me stirring the stew.

I did not understand this cruel theory. To me, we were all weak and vulnerable. Did that mean we were all meant to die and be crushed? Who was the strong one to crush us? God? No, he loved us. The Devil? No, he hated us.

If Bertha was stronger than the poor rat, was she entitled to make it cower, or destroy it? No, no one was.

If the man was stronger than poor Bertha, was he entitled to make her cower? Certainly not.

But I think we all wanted to be weak with those we loved.

* * *

I did not know my father very well and he did not know me. We had a strange relation, where we shared a dining table and the local paper.

But in that morning, for the very first time, we both felt the same bad foreboding.

He received a letter which expressed the wishes of Mr. Collins to come visit us. He was our cousin and the rightful heir of Longbourn.

I loathed guests at the house. It all meant too much fuss and hard work, but the cousin would prove to be twice as difficult. We could not show our discontent, we could not err in our manners…our welfare depended on it.

Jane came home three days later, looking healthier than when she had left. She was happy and in love, as we all saw it. Everyone expected a happy marriage in the near future and a generous income.

I found Mr. Bingley a rather boring gentleman. I had visited Netherfield with my mother and sisters not a week ago to see poor Jane. He had received us most auspiciously, but his conversation and general attitude were not very colourful. He left no impression on me. He only blabbered about this and that and encouraged mama to do all the talking. He waited hand and foot on his sister, Caroline and he adored Jane with such obvious intensity that I envied my sister for such a faithful partner.

Neither Mr. Darcy nor Mr. Bingley seemed eager enough to leave an etched memory in my mind. Perhaps it was my fault that I did not appreciate fine men.

In my story, one of the bullfrogs was called Bing and he resembled Mr. Bingley in all aspects, only he was not as handsome. I also called the stork Arcy. Arcy was a very rational and thoughtful bird that couldn't fly. That made him quite pompous and acrid. Both Arcy and Bing had long talks on the banks of the pond. The seasons would change and they would still be talking, come snow or sunshine. They'd only stop when the stork tried to fly again. They'd usually discuss politics. Pansy accidentally threw the bullfrog up in the sky with her foot and he flew into a reed thicket, five feet away from Arcy. When the stork couldn't find his trustful friend anymore he cried and wept so hard he couldn't stand it. He called him and begged him to return, but Bing had been ruefully hurt by the fall and could not currently reply. Arcy thought that Bing had flown skies and skies away and that he could only catch his friend by taking off into the clouds himself. And what do you know? Arcy spread his wings and this time flew over the clouds in search for his friend. He had only needed a reason for his actions.

I believe I needed a reason for my actions as well. I must have disliked the gentlemen for a good reason, but I had not found it yet.

* * *

Mr. Collins I disliked for a good reason. He had a very pointy nose and terrible breath. He smoked so much one couldn't stand near him.

He talked only of God and Lady Catherine, his patroness and sometimes confused the two of them altogether, but it was unnoticeable. Most of us did not hear his conversation, though mama pretended to listen.

He dropped his fork twice and stuttered uncommonly often. I believe he was shy. He paid us each a compliment and when he reached me and cast his eyes upon me, he made a peculiar nose and racked his brains for a fitful adjective. In the end he said:

'Plump, pretty girl.'

That night, I stared in the looking glass for many hours. I wanted to see if he was right, if I really was plump. I imagined myself as a plump chicken, strolling proudly in the snow, furrowing my feathers and crowing about how I used to be a girl but one day a parson had called me plump and…

Would someone cut me up and fry me for supper, just like Bertha and I had done to that poor chicken? Now that I thought about it, I had been horribly hypocritical. I had defended the rat, but I did not defend the chicken. There was indeed…a survival of the fittest, only I wish there wasn't.

I had to stay in the lavatory and throw up my supper. I cried for the chicken and the rat and then I chided myself for being so daft.

I would not eat anything and love everything so I would not err again.

Poor, crowing chicken…

I was nothing but an inconsistent girl if I was not fair to all creatures.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Denny

The barren trees followed me wherever I turned. There was a long branch hanging onto my sleeve and I had to yank my hand away. I felt like a witch in a dark, evil forest. My sister, Mary, strutted in front of me, holding her prayer book tight.

'Did you ever imagine what God looked like?' I asked her, hopping over a puddle.

'God is not a living being like you and I, Kitty, stop putting silly questions.'

'He's everything, that's what they tell us, that He's in everything and everyone, that's what they say. So…he looks like the world around me,' I said pondering my words.

'Kitty I will box your ears if you keep uttering nonsense like that. Bid you stay quiet in church!' Mary chided me and walked on.

'Get in the carriage dears!' mother called.

I looked back and I saw our garden smiling back at me.

* * *

After the sermon I ambled through the cemetery with the other children, long after mama called after me. We all did snow angels and put snow in our collars and we laughed a great deal but we did not laugh too loud for the dead were upon us, surrounding us from all corners.

I gathered the little ones around me and knelt in the snow.

'D'you know at night, what the roaming sleepy spirits do? They awaken the bodies they belong to and walk the earth, taking their revenge.'

The little girls widened their eyes but the little boys just snorted in disbelief.

'Why would they do that?' they asked.

'They did not have an honourable death. They were never given peace before death. Maybe one of them was slain by a brother or a young woman was jilted and threw herself off a bridge. Now they seek punishment from those that have scorned them. They creep in their houses, melt in the walls, rattle like snakes at their feet, steal their most valued possessions. Sometimes they take the newborns and drink their blood. Sometimes they wrench hearts and fly with them to the moon…And pray you are not around when they are awake,' I said smiling devilishly.

They were staring at me frightened, holding on to each other.

'I would like to see them with my own eyes,' a taller boy said sharply.

'We should all gather at night to see them,' another one added.

'If we do, we must not be seen,' I added secretly.

'How can we not be seen?'

'There is a spell for that, but only witches know it,' I answered.

'Do you know any witches, Kitty?' they inquired.

'I heard they still exist, somewhere up north. But they live in isolation, away from us and they never come out in sunlight for they are burnt by its rays. They only bathe in moonlight and they dance and swirl and swirl on water…' I said twisting and turning in the snow. 'And if someone sees them they turn into swans and glide on the river...'

'Kitty! Kitty!'

Jane had come to take me away. 'Come Kitty…we must be going now.'

The children ran with me to the gates and waved goodbye.

'Take care of the swans Miss Bennet!' they shouted after me.

Jane pulled me to her and held my arm gently.

'Do not encourage them too much, Kitty. You know they are apt to believe you.'

'Encourage them? I only told the truth,' I answered firmly.

'You mean to say you really believe in those stories?'

'Why would I not? It would be a really dull, colourless world without them. And every household has a ghost just like every forest has a witch.'

'Goodness, that sounds wretched!'

'Not at all. All things strange and unfathomable come to life when you believe in them.'

'You are very strange,' Jane whispered more to herself but I heard her.

'Why is that so?'

'Oh, it is just an idle thought of mine. But do not tell your stories to young men.'

'Why ever not?'

'They might not treasure them like children do.'

'I understand your meaning…but aren't we all children?' I reasoned.

'The only child here is you.'

She cast me a sympathetic look and went to help mama get in the carriage.

'That's not true!' I shouted after her.

* * *

I wrapped my cloak round me tight. It was so very cold and Lydia was talking to the officers while I thought I would freeze, but she did not feel the cold.

'Your sister here, Miss Bennet, isn't a great talker.'

'Oh, she never says much, do you Kitty? Well? Answer the officers!' she beckoned me as I looked at them as if through a cloud of fog. They were all so handsome and groomed. I expected them to turn into mice, just like in that story I once read.

'I do talk, once in a while,' I answered. 'I'm very cold.'

'Let us go to the Bagger's Inn, then, ladies,' they said escorting us inside. One of them, his name was Denny, took my small hand in his gently and smiled at me most caressingly.

I wanted to smile back but I saw something, a shadow lurking behind that kind face. It was not an evil sort of thing, but it scared me a bit.

We met them every week in town and every time we stayed in their company for at least an hour or two, while our other sisters managed their affairs.

One afternoon, we were all walking on the outskirts, admiring the white scenery that was slowly melting, when we passed some large shrubberies. Denny helped me jump over a puddle and pulled me to him behind the large bushes.

He lowered his face to mine slowly and I asked him what he wanted to do. He embraced me and was about to kiss me but I pulled myself away and ran away, fast as lightning.

I stumbled several times on fallen branches and logs and I dirtied my boots in the marshes but I continued running, gasping for my breath.

Only when I saw my home on the horizon did I stop at the foot of a tree.

I started crying my face in my hands. I did not wish to grow up!


	5. Chapter 5

_Inspired by Kwoon - I lived on the moon. _

5: I lived on the moon

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I realize that my writing is not getting any better. I look over my papers and I don't know what to do with them. It seems futile to go on. And I never feel that. I always feel I should write. I suppose I felt ashamed of myself for being silly the other day with Denny.

I ought to make an effort and finish my story. I heard my aunt speak of Lady Radcliffe and how she published her novels. I'd feel happy to do that, but I doubt anyone will read them and be pleased.

My heroine, Pansy, is very annoying. She will not listen to me. Even if I put the words on paper, she will still disobey me.

I haven't got a reader. Mary has a poor opinion of them, but I wish that someone else could read them. And I don't know anyone else. Lizzie might help me, but I don't wish to bother her.

I also realize that at one point I will have to write this story using my mind, not just my heart. I haven't put much thought into it and I am very ashamed.

I have many stories, but this one is most promising.

I think children will enjoy it more than adults, but it is written for adults.

I have corrected some of my mistakes, but it still looks bleak for some reason. I think it is because Pansy has no inner conflict. We all have inner conflicts. But she seems to swallow everything without thinking. But that is a trait I established for her. I am confused.

I have started loathing Mr. Collins with a passion and I believe he would make a good character in my story. I also believe he is trying to win Lizzie, which will never happen.

My eyes are watery from writing at this poor light, so I rejoice in the morning light that is pink and blue and yellow and throws lively shadows on the walls.

* * *

I was very upset this afternoon when I found Lydia had stolen one of my papers, had read it and had misplaced it somewhere and now she was making fun of me. I was so angry that I did not speak to her at all. Not only had she lost my story but she also had the audacity to be so mean.

I am between two minds whether I should talk to my aunt about Mrs. Radcliffe.

In the evening I felt very sad. I always feel sad in the evenings when I think of my future and that I am a bug on a leaf and I am unknown and unseen and my words will never mean anything. I keep writing in the hope that some peace will come, but I know all my life I'll wonder.

And this wondering does me no good.

We are all preparing for the Netherfield Ball. Jane has picked a very pretty dress and she looks wonderful, to say the least. Lizzie is very fair as well. All my sisters look like angels in their white muslins. I wonder what it would be like to go to a Ball wearing a very bright colour when everyone is wearing white. I would like to watch that woman from above and see the contrast.

* * *

Maria Lucas told me Denny was very intrigued by me. She told me he had thought my refusal to be very charming and crafty. He thinks me interesting. I was very angry and I told Maria to tell him I think he is a stupid man.

Of course she did not oblige me. She said I should be lucky to have Denny chase me, but I am afraid of him. He would never read my stories and the man I shall love, if I ever understand what that means, shall be able to read my stories.

And he will be able to tell me if he likes them as well.

* * *

Lydia wanted me to help her with the dress for the Ball but I was still upset with her and I turned my back on her. She told me she would make sure no officer would dance with me.

Today I made some progress with Pansy. She is in the land of all things yellow, only the things around her tell her they are not yellow at all, so she must find out whether they are lying or her vision on things is distorted. Maybe she sees one thing and the others around her. She would be lost in this world. She would be considered a conscript. I rather like her now.

She is forcing herself to see another colour so she throws paint all over the things around her, but they only scream and scratch her. They won't even let her have their opinion. Once you don't agree with them, you can never please them anyway.

Tonight at the Ball I hope I find my inspiration. See, I think I am getting rather dull. I just saw the snow melting into a puddle in front of the stable and I wanted to cry. But soon all the snow will melt. Even if it is winter. But it's not the sun that melts it, it's the rain. Water melts water.

Like men kill men.

* * *

We arrived at Netherfield. It was so beautiful, everything shone. It was like a room from heaven. I especially liked the red curtains. Everywhere you looked there were red curtains. I imagined I had a red dress myself and I wasn't wearing white and I imagined people throwing me scandalized looks.

Lydia ran away somewhere and she refused to take me with her. I tried following her but to no avail. Mary was already close to the piano and Jane was talking to Mr. Bingley so I couldn't intrude. Lizzie was walking through the rooms with Charlotte. They were probably looking for Mr. Wickham. Oh, I forgot to tell you, Lizzie fell in love with an officer. I think she did, I am not sure.

The officer is handsome, but he is much like Denny so I do not like him so much. He is more polite and I feel I could talk to him, but Lydia won't let me. She is infatuated with him herself.

I managed to find Maria Lucas who was telling me Denny was looking for me, so I decided to hide. I found the cards room and I stayed there for a while, watching the games.

I was getting very bored so I started thinking about Pansy. She should face society more often. Maybe a Ball for her as well. What would she do at this Ball?

She would make a funny comment.

What would she wear? I had to think about that.

I heard a conversation nearby that woke me up, in a very unpleasant way.

'I wonder what this young girl is doing here. Is she trying to catch the attention of men? Perhaps her mother put her to it.'

The other man on the left nodded.

'Maybe she is trying to pick her partner.'

'Who do you think she has picked? She just stares at Johnny over there. He is not very handsome.'

'But he is rich,' the other one remarked.

I usually didn't respond when someone had something against me, but now I couldn't stand their gossip. My heroine deserved better.

I got up and went over to them, my cheeks probably red.

'I don't appreciate your insults. I'll have you know I was thinking of a girl. And you sound more like women than men.'

I knew I sounded dreadfully impolite but I couldn't care less.

They stared at me a long time without saying anything, so I turned on my heels and left.

I hate how people think I am doing this or that. I put my hands to my head and tried calming down.

I sat down on some stairs. I think I feel worse now. Poor Pansy is lucky to be living in another world. And I know I sound like a victim, but I have nothing to look forward to.

Marriage will be dreadful, children will cry and scream and my hands will go numb from the cold water and my hair will grow grey and I won't be able to run anymore because my feet will be sore. He will lock himself up in a study and I will keep writing and I will never be happy.

My stories will die away like summer and no one will think them any good. Only those proud men will rule and I, in my world, will not be my mistress. I, in my own world, will be subjected to their despise and I will not be able to despise them, because my heart is full of hope. And if this world is only governed by them, what is the point of trying to be happy?

But that's wrong. Life is meant to make one happy. Someone up there will be very sad if I am not happy.

So I need to stay young, I must never grow up, that is the secret.

But how can I stop time from running past me? It is like a river I can't race, because it flows past my legs. And I am left somewhere in the middle of it. I would rather be swept away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi, I wonder if anyone reads this story. Well, I hope someone reviews eventually. I'm curious what people think. Then again I would like reviews in which people tell me what characters they'd like to see in this story; like things or people they invented, not people from the book. Happy reading. **

_try for a moment to see my world without yours.  
_

6: I am the chains

The clock struck ten in the evening and I got up from the stairs. I walked around the Ball rooms aimlessly, watching the pretty girls and handsome men twirl around and around. If I was a fly on the wall, I'd see their muslins turn and turn and they'd make a perfect white circle.

I saw the wrinkled old mothers talking to each other, their lips touching each other's ears. I brushed my palm over that image and I saw them young again. They were so very beautiful. They got up and started running around the room. They were all with child. Their stomachs bulged out of their dresses. They looked so happy.

I blinked and the image disappeared.

I wanted to tell them they shouldn't have given up their youth. But I was so very far away from them. I turned a knob and entered a room with a pianoforte. It was very dark and dusty and crammed with boxes full of crockery. There were some bottles of wine on the floor. I believe I was in a pantry of some sorts, but what was the pianoforte doing there?

I touched its smooth surface. It was so beautiful, much more beautiful than the one in the Ball room. I sat down and touched the keys. An odd feeling went over me. I became very dizzy. The images around me were very blurry.

I tried rubbing my eyes but all I could see were stars. I felt something cold underneath me.

When I opened my eyes I saw yellow. I was sitting on the pavement of a street. But everything around me was yellow.

I saw a little girl wearing a wooden sign around her throat that spelt _Pansy_.

She ran around me throwing big vats of paint.

'Hey, stop!' I ordered her but she just laughed and ran away, throwing paint all over the place.

I got up and followed her though I was feeling very nauseous. The men and women were yellow. They walked down the streets bowing politely at me and then they would take out their yellow watches and turn them back.

The sky was a darker shade of yellow. Pansy ran to a tall yellow building full of yellow windows.

She ran up the stairs and I pursued her. I couldn't see any rooms or floors, just an infinite flight of stairs. Until we reached the roof.

'Dare to jump?' she asked smiling and she jumped off the roof.

'Pansy, no!'

I looked down and I heard a big splash. She had landed…in water. It was yellow.

'Come on! Jump!' Pansy yelled, swimming through the yellow water. 'It's very warm.'

I took a better look at the water and I actually saw my house at the bottom…and my mother and father! They were waving at me happily. My sisters were trying to build a ladder to get out of the water, but it always collapsed.

I saw the Ball rooms and fish were dancing.

'I can't swim!' I told Pansy.

'That's alright! I've got boats!'

The boats were yellow pieces of paper. They had ink on it. It was my story, I recognized my writing.

'I don't think I'll jump after all,' I told Pansy.

I stepped back but someone caught me by the waist and pushed me down.

I turned to look who it was but I didn't catch the figure.

I fell into the water…and plunged deep down and saw Pansy sleeping on one of my papers.

'Kitty! What are you doing here?'

Jane was patting me on the cheeks. My back hurt terribly. I was sitting over a box and I saw some crushed glasses at my feet. I had a bottle of wine in my lap. I was still in the pantry.

'Are you alright? Did someone harm you?'

I closed my eyes in disappointment. No. I wanted to be in my story. I opened them again. Jane was still there.

'You look beautiful,' I whispered. 'I'm alright. I got lost. I guess I fell asleep.'

Jane helped me get up.

'Why aren't you dancing?'

'Lydia told me she couldn't find you,' Jane explained. 'I came to look for you.'

'You shouldn't have…I was having a beautiful dream.'

Jane smiled and took my hand and led me out of the room. 'How about you dance with a nice young man and you can dream at home?'

She walked in front of me and I followed her. And I think there was a wooden sign around her neck that said _Jane_.

* * *

The girl haunted my night. Pansy was no ordinary girl I realized. I had created her and without my notice she had escaped my grasp. Now she was free. Tonight, she had cut her strings loose, I don't know how. I only saw her coming in and out of my room, even if I locked it thoroughly. Lydia was sleeping soundly so she did not hear her.

My Pansy was very pretty, but she looked like a china figurine. You could not touch her, you could not feel her. I don't think she was alive.

I saw her that night sitting in front of our wardrobe. She picked clothes to try on and smiled at me.

I thought I was dreaming. Surely I must have been asleep. I don't just see strange girls walking in my room. So I kept on watching her because I thought I was sleeping.

But in the morning, my eyes felt weary and my entire body felt heavy. I was in pain and my voice was very hoarse.

I got up and put on my dress and walked down, but I felt like a lifeless body.

And when I reached the breakfast table I saw Pansy had taken my seat. She was smiling sweetly at me.

She disappeared for a few hours. But in the afternoon she appeared again, this time in the garden, digging something up.

I thought I was asleep again. Had I woken up at all? I must have been sleeping still. I could not have woken up.

But my mother and sisters talked to me and touched me and the dog licked my hand, so you see, I might not have been dreaming.

That night I lay myself in bed and commanded myself to sleep and I shut my eyes.

I turned towards the wall and I saw Pansy lying next to me.

I almost shrieked but she covered my mouth with her hand.

Her hand was made of flesh and bones. I could actually feel it against my skin.

'Don't shout. Your sister is sleeping. Don't you know it's not nice to wake up your sister? Now, be silent and listen to my stories. I need you to pay attention because tomorrow you shall write them down.'

All night long she told me stories form the lands she had seen and the many people she had met. And in the morning she disappeared.

I fell asleep for some minutes before I felt a sharp pain in my eye. A sun ray was blinding me.

I got up dizzily and snatched some paper and took my quill and scribbled some words I remembered from her stories. Only a few to last me through the day.

Another day passed in stupor. I sat in the parlour, thinking about words, thinking about her stories and I sometimes closed my eyes and saw stars again.

The night came again and I found her in my bed again. This time she was holding a flute.

'your sister will not hear. Only you. You must write a story about this song.'

I listened to her song all night long but as hard as I tried I couldn't put it in writing at all.

However, the third day, I couldn't get out of bed. I hadn't slept in three days and it was apparently taking its toll on me.

My mother came up to see me.

'My dear child, are you ill?'

I would have wanted to say I was ill with words.

The physician came to see me later that day. He said I was not getting enough sleep.

He asked me some questions which I could not answer. He asked me if I had nightmares or if something troubled me. All the while Pansy was dancing around the room.

I shook my head and buried my head under the pillow.

I willed myself to shut my eyes and think of nothing and fall asleep but every time I did that the voices in my head started begging:

_You need to see the world through our eyes! You need to write, you need to write! Let the world know we are alive!_

I know it seems such a rush. Everything seems mad, what I am writing here. But I am writing like this because I am fatigued and chagrined. And I am also shocked and amazed but I suppose I am too astounded to speak properly. I cannot describe my feelings.

Ever since the Ball, everything has been upside down. Pansy was freed and I was entrapped in the land of no sleep.

How was I supposed to live? I needed to sleep. Otherwise I wouldn't have any dreams anymore.

* * *

The following night, Pansy stood over my bed, caressing my forehead.

'I will help you, so that you never feel pain again. I promise words will never harm you.'

Her hands were muddy and full of earth.

'I dug that hole in the garden and look what I found.'

She showed me an old, rusty key.

I took it amazed and inspected it eagerly, for I had never seen such a pretty key.

'I will put it around your neck. It will take your sleep away so that you never feel tired again. But remember. When the key turns red it means it has used all its powers and after that, you will either perish or sleep for eternity. Which is almost the same thing. So you must use the time you have wisely. You must write.'

She put a silver chain around my neck and I felt the key dangling on my chest.

All of a sudden a great weight was lifted off my shoulders. I got up and smiled a bright, sunny smile that lit up the ceiling of the room. My heart felt too full, too happy, my mind was reeling. I knew if I jumped I would fly.

I touched the key with care and pressed it to my heart.

* * *

The following morning I got up rested and in good spirits and I walked into the gardens. I saw my father there. he was walking serenely, thinking of this or that.

'Papa!' I called.

'Kitty, dear, you are awake! You look much better now. You finally found sleep?'

'Yes, papa, I did. I managed to sleep. But look,' I told him and pulled out my chain.

He raised a brow confused.

'Isn't it beautiful?'

'What is, my dear? All I see is your hand. Is that what I am supposed to see?'

I frowned and opened my palm wider.

'Look at the key, papa.'

'I see no key dear. Are you sure you are alright?'

I pulled the chain inside again miserably.

_You can't see it._

'Kitty, dear, are you alright?'

'I am, papa. I just thought I had put my necklace on.'


End file.
